Graduation Blues
by Nat Carter
Summary: A discussion about teachers, grades, and life after Hogwarts. SLASH, Harry/Ron


## Graduation Blues

  
[Natalia Carter][1]

Pairing: Harry/Ron  
Rating: PG-13 ish. They're not underage anymore.  
Feedback: Please, at [nat_carter@mail.com][1]  
Archive: Yes  
Disclaimer: Not mine, and I'm not sure I want Harry anyway.

for Chelle, because I promised, and because she said I was cool. Repeatedly :)

**

"But I don't _want_ to graduate from Hogwarts," Harry Potter whined. "I'll have to go back to those Durslesys, and I'll never be able to come here again. I won't see my friends anymore, I won't be able to play Quidditch anymore, I won't be able to do _anything_ fun. With my luck, they'll lock me in the basement until I'm old enough to turn out on the streets."

Ron Weasley was quiet, walking beside his friend. Their last term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft And Wizardry ended in just over a week, but Ron suspected Harry would kill him with his whining before then. "You could just come stay with us," Ron offered, for about the sixth time, but Harry seemed to be enjoying his misery and ignored his friend completely.

"Life with the Dursleys will be _awful_ without Hogwarts to look foreward to," Harry continued. "They'll probably treat me like a servant or something."

"But you won't be an underaged wizard anymore, you could use magic on them," Ron suggested brightly. Harry frowned, then smiled.

"You're right." They continued on toward the Great Hall in relative silence for a few steps before Hermione fell into place beside Ron.

"Hi," she said, sounding exhausted. 

"Hello," Ron and Harry chorused. "Did you get your exam grades back?" Ron asked Hermione.

"Yes . . . Perfect marks in everything," she gloated, "Except . . . " Harry and Ron perked up. "There's an 'except'?" Harry asked eagerly.

Hermione sighed. "I only got a four-ninety-seven in Potions," she sighed. "I don't see _how_ I'll be accepted into the Ministry of Magic with only a four-ninety-seven on my Potions final."

"I almost _failed_ the Potions final, and you're complaining because you were three points short of a perfect grade?" Harry said incredulously. Ron snickered.

"With the amount of work you _haven't_ been doing lately, Harry Potter, you _should_ have failed the Potions final," Hermione said stuffily, then stalked off.

"Yeah, I thought so too," Harry said to Ron. "I barely studied at all for the final. Snape was just being generous, I guess."

"Snape? Generous?" Ron snorked. "Those are two words that do _not_, under _any_ conditions, belong in the same sentance."

"I know," Harry agreed. "I wonder what's gotten into him?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno," he said, "But whatever it is, I hope it stays around until next year . . ." his voice trailing off as he realized that he would have no further use for Snape, in good mood or bad. He looked over at Harry, and saw his friend had been reminded of the same thing. 

Harry Potter had grown from an awkward, gangling child into a gorgeous young man. Puberty had worked wonders, filling out his stick-thin frame, his painful cheekbones, his non-existant muscles. His hair had calmed considerably, and fell in soft feathers over his forehead and in his eyes. 

Ron had always been a little in love with Harry Potter--after all, what self-respecting witch or wizard wasn't? But recently, Ron's feelings had changed, from an ordinary, benign, worshipful type of love to something darker, more serious, more honest. Every time he looked at Harry, the idea that had been forming in the back of his mind grew just a little, until it was unavoidable--Ron wanted Harry.

" . . . don't you think so? Ron?" "Huh?" Ron realized, with a start, that Harry was speaking to him. "What, Harry? I didn't hear you."

Harry sighed. "I _said_, I hope the Dursleys have somewhere important to go this summer," Harry repeated. "Then they can just leave me in the house and I won't have to deal with them. But if the _do_ go away, as I was saying, they'll probably make me stay with Aunt Marge, or someone equally horrible. Don't you think?"

"Harry," Ron said irritably, "shut up." And he pushed Harry up against the wall of the corridor, put one hand on either side of his face, and kissed him firmly.

Ron felt Harry gasp sharply, then sigh and relax. Harry's arms wound around his friend, one around Ron's shoulders, the other hand on the back of his head, pressing him closer. Ron pressed closer to Harry, as if trying to absorb his friend directly into his body. Harry responded eagerly, pushing foreward against Ron, making little whimpery noises.

After what felt like an eternity, Ron pulled away, gasping for air. "Do you . . ." he started, but trailed off as he forgot what he had been about to say. The words were gone, lost in Harry's eyes, Harry's smile. 

"There's nobody in the Gryffendor tower," Harry whispered, a little smile on his face. "They're all in the Great Hall, they'll be there for a few hours at least. We would have the tower to ourselves."

Ron nodded rapidly, then pulled back a little and took Harry's hand. The two raced off toward the Gryffendor tower, laughing a little whenever they looked at each other. They both blurted the password at the same time, and tripped over each other as they raced up the stairs to the sleeping chamber. They fell onto Harry's bed for the simple reason that it was closer, and pulled the heavy curtains closed.

3/12/00

[][2] [][1]

Because Text Editors Are For Wimps!

   [1]: mailto:nat_carter@mail.com
   [2]: hp.html



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